


To Catch a Butterfly || Camren

by MissFangs



Category: fifth harmony - Fandom
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Drugs, F/F, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFangs/pseuds/MissFangs
Summary: It has been five years since Lauren Jauregui last saw Camila Cabello, but not a day since she had her last hit of Oxy. Besides what her psychologist labels as an "anger problem" and a diagnosable opioid dependency, Lauren adds Camila to her list of problems when the twenty-five-year-old solo artist comes out as bi-sexual on live TV. Lauren is forced to reconcile with her emotions towards Camila when her psychologist gives her an ultimatum; change or hospitalization. As the heat of old flames burns barriers between them, the two girls fight against their own pasts and the complications of their present to find the love they stumbled into so many years ago.
Relationships: Camila Cabello/Lauren Jauregui
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter I

One step out of the hotel and Lauren Jauregui's vision is filled with a flash, then four more as a group of hungry paparazzi turn to her like vultures to meat. They fly along the night's cool breeze to her side. The girl beside her shields her eyes from the flashes and splits from Lauren.

"Who is your friend Lauren?" One yells between snaps of his camera.

"Lauren, over here!" A woman interrupts.

There's a dull ache in her neck that threatens to spread into her head as the light lands hard on her tired eyes.

"She's not my friend." The girl is another one night stand, and Lauren doesn't remember her name.

Lauren hurries down the steps to one of New York City's busy streets. She whistles at the first cab she sees, but it stops for a woman across the street.

"Lauren, do you have plans tonight?" The man steps in front of her, blocking her hand as she hails another cab. It reflects a piercing shimmer off its yellow body as it passes. Her seething glare is lost on the unwitting Pap.

Inhale, then exhale your anger. The mantra rings through her head, colored by the voice of her judgmental Psychologist, Lee. Anger problem, as if, she thinks. Problems just anger me. Lauren frequents the rational response of anger often, especially lately. It doesn't help that her stomach feels like it's sitting in her throat, burning at her tongue and souring her words. Her head feels weightless, hammering her brain against her skull until it pounds all day, every day. Her body is against her more often than anything or anyone else.

The wind raises goosebumps on her skin as it passes over the stream of sweat gathering on her temples. She sticks her hands in the pockets of her bomber jacket and begins to inhale. She plans to exhale her anger, but she's short of breath in the confining cold and it releases as a scoff. Her mantra isn't the first rule of therapy that she's broken tonight, and it isn't close to the last.

"Yes, I have plans tonight. They don't include you." She replies to the pap, shoving past him to leap in front of a cab. It skids to a stop and the driver throws his hands in the air. She pays no mind to his features as they furrow into a sour expression, glaring at her through the rear-view mirror as she slides into the back seat.

"Gramercy and Murray Hill, in a hurry." She says. The pain in her head grips its fingers around her nerves as the cameras flash outside the cab's window. Her forehead pounds in response.

"Sure. You want a pony too, princess?" The driver chides in a Brooklyn accent. Lauren pulls a bill from her wallet, throwing it to his dashboard.

"No, but you can buy yourself one." His brow bounces up as his eyes catch the cash.

"Baby doll! In a hurry, it is."

The pain in her forehead is intense, but it does little to distract her from her stomach, still rising in her throat and tickling at her gag reflex. She grips the seat and closes her eyes as the driver swings around another corner. Nausea is the worst of her symptoms. It's unbearable, sure, but it's also the hardest to hide. Her sober companion notices it every time; throwing up is the ultimate snitch.

She looks at her phone for the time, but it opens to a new message. Reluctantly, she swipes onto the text conversation.

Friday, November 18th, 2022. 9:57pm Fuck Off: Lee will be hearing about this, Lauren.

Fuck off, Lauren's sober companion, who her psychologist insists on calling by name, Faith, is a nuisance to Lauren. F.O is so easy to hate; ignorant people usually are. 

Lauren backs out of the texts, and as she does a conversation pops up on the top of her messages, a little blue bubble beside the name Camila. Lauren hasn't ever replied, so perhaps 'conversation' isn't a fitting term. Lauren rolls her eyes, but her stomach rolls with them. She presses against the back of her seat to center herself before she looks back to her phone, and decides against rolling her eyes again.

She clicks the message. Her gaze gravitates to the first message and falls down to the most recent.

Saturday, December 4th, 2021. 3:21 PM Camila: hi lauren, it's camila. ally gave me ur number... I heard u guys finished ur last show as a group. U all rocked it. congrats! 

Friday, December 31st, 2021. 7:42 PM Camila: it's 1:42am in Madrid n i slept through midnight but happy new year's! 

Friday, December 31st, 2021. 7:49 PM Camila: dinah said u aren't doing well. even after everything we've been through i'll still always b here to talk. ik we aren't friends, lauren, trust me, but the least u can do is reply. 

Thursday, October 20th, 2022. 1:02 PM Camila: heard ur new single on the radio. it's rlly good. 

Friday, November 18th, 2022. 9:58 PM Camila: hey, i saw ur single hit platinum. congrats.

Lauren throws her phone face down on the seat, leaning against the taxi cab window to glare at the city's skyline. The sickening feeling worsens in her stomach, but it isn't from the driving. She wonders what gives Camila the right to play innocent or to text at all. Lauren wipes a streak of sweat from her cheek - or is it a tear? Her mind is in another place, Ty's place. Namely Ty's stash, but there's hardly a difference anymore.

"Thanks for the tip, doll." The taxi driver says as he pulls off the road. She steps out of the cab without another word, jogging into the hotel.

***

Hands stuffed in her pockets, Lauren enters a Café the next morning with a hoodie draped over her satin curls, wearing an old pair of wayfarer sunglasses to cover the dark circles under her green eyes. Her bones ache as she lowers into the first booth on the right. The place is as hazy as her mind. There's a veil of steam wafting from the coffee machines behind the store's counter, creeping along the ceiling and catching the midmorning sun at its milky edges. The place smells of activity, reeking of coffee and undertones of sweat from the busy crowds.

Lauren sets her glasses on the table and rubs her temples, grazing the knotted ends of her uncombed hair in an attempt to massage last night out of her head. A plate slides across the table and slows in front of her elbows. Atop the clean white ceramic sits a buttered strawberry pastry the size of two fists. Across from her, a blonde-haired girl slides into the booth, watching Lauren with her warm chocolate gaze.

Dinah arrives before Lauren on most occasions, ordering breakfast for her and a latte for herself. Her lips hug the plastic lip of her to-go cup as she studies the constant stream of pedestrians rushing past the café's sidewalk. Lauren rips a piece of the pastry off, melting it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth.

"You're mad at me," She says, halfway through the second bite.

Dinah sets her cup down and wraps her long-nailed fingers around it. She clicks her tongue as if to test the flavor of her drink.

"How's Ty?"

Lauren glowers. She feels the full weight of Dinah's eyes as they bear down on her.

"You are mad at me," Lauren repeats.

Dinah responds with a huff, then a slow sip of her latte as she turns her focus back to the window. She's used to seeing Lauren under the cover of a hoodie, her words grumbled through an irritated throat and filtered through a cloudy brain. Lauren knows that Dinah doesn't like it, she was always against drugs. But she also knows that Dinah doesn't understand it. It isn't about fun anymore and it isn't the stress of a solo career; Dinah would understand all of that. No, it's something else entirely.

But Dinah sticks with her anyway. The last time Lauren was sober for more than a week was over a year ago, before Fifth Harmony's last show. Dinah had been watching her use ever since she met Ty, ever since December 18th, 2016. A few days of sobriety make the difference to Dinah, but Lauren can't always manage so long.

"It would've been nice to know that you were safe, you could've texted me," Dinah says.

"I figured F.O. would've sent something," Lauren mumbles through her full mouth.

"Her name is Faith," Dinah snaps, looking back at Lauren with a palpable bitterness in her otherwise inviting eyes.

Lauren rolls her eyes and opens her jaw to fit the last of the pastry in her mouth. She coughs a little as it catches in the back of her mouth, spitting pieces of bread crust soaked in saliva across the table. Dinah cringes to the corner of her booth and Lauren can't help but giggle as she chews through the last of her mouthful. Dinah's disgust morphs slowly into a hesitant grin, and it's sweeter a treat than Lauren's pastry. She releases a long sigh as her smile fades.

"Girl, you know I'll always show up anyway." Dinah's voice is soft, spoken through the tail-end of her smile and shaded by the near decade of history they shared together. It'd become the new assurance of their friendship, this reply. No matter her opinion, Dinah stuck by Lauren.

"Where's Faith?" Dinah asks, but considering Lauren's state, the only answer that matters is: not here. Lauren just shrugs.

"I'm calling her." Dinah pulls out her phone. Lauren presses her forehead into her palms and groans.

"Ugh, fine. I'll have her pick me up. We'll go to my interview together... Happy?"

Lauren picks up her head to find Dinah staring at her through squinted eyes. She sets her phone down on the table and crosses her hands over her chest.

"I look forward to seeing her."

"Don't know why..." Lauren mumbles, her eyes falling to her plate. Beneath the remaining crumbs and the faint outline of butter where her pastry once sat, her face is reflected off the plate's surface. It's a desolate image, the emptiness of her plate.

Dinah furrows her brow, pinching her lips to the side like she's doing a crossword.

"You heard, didn't you? That's why you're stressed."

Lauren looks up and, in that moment, it's clear that Lauren hasn't heard. Dinah will be the first to tell her about Camila's interview.


	2. Chapter II

Camila's plane appears below the low-hanging clouds over the Los Angeles skyline, touching the ground at half-past 4:00 pm. Camila is out of the airport in half an hour and unlocking her hotel room with plenty of time to spare before the program. Today, November 18th, at 7:00 pm, her interview will be immortalized in history. Her heart feels as if it's sitting in a pot of slowly boiling water, warming each minute and bubbling around her chest until the moment the interview airs and she melts.

She trips across the carpet, on her way to the TV as she jumps into the bottoms of her cotton jammies. She leaps into the center of the king-sized bed, unwrapping the mint chocolate on her pillow as she wiggles her bottom into the mattress. Her hands paddle around the down-comforter of her bed in search of a nonexistent-bowl of buttered popcorn that she'd forgotten to pick up. She releases her disappointment in a quick exhale and settles for a pillow to keep her hands busy. She hugs it tightly against her chest.

The excitement wears off by the third commercial before the show, and it leaves an odd, out of place feeling that she thinks is homesickness. Off tour and working on her album, Camila hasn't been away from home in a long while. Los Angeles feels far away, is far away, from her home in Madrid.

When she moved to Spain, less than a year ago, now, it was clear that Madrid could become her home. Her goal was to move before thirty, but the inspiration for her third album revealed itself in Spain before then, and she accelerated her schedule for her music's sake. Inspiration had been hiding beneath the cover of shadow no matter where she was. Even under the clear studio lighting and confined within the sanctuary of padded walls, it was hidden. But the moment she looked to the streets of Madrid, even through the tinted windows of her Uber, then obscured by raindrops and the occasional flash of lightning against them, she could hear the melody humming from inside her, chanting faint lyrics charmed with new meaning. "I Feel Like," the album's lead song, was born as a new note in her phone above a chord progression that would change three times before she got into the studio. Madrid is less complicated. There are more things for Camila to think about in Los Angeles.

An advertisement for the American Music Awards catches Camila's attention. She's nominated and favored to win Artist of the Year, and her attendance is necessary. Despite the, her inner-monologue begins, the announcer finishing her thought.

"Performances by," He says. He totes several names before he gets to the final.

"Lauren Jauregui."

Her photo floats onto the screen above the name of her new single, freshly awarded platinum. It feels like it's hovering there for a long time. Camila's eyes turn dry in her blank stare, and by the time she's finished rubbing them, Lauren's photo is gone. She supposes the dryness is better than the opposite. It's been a long time since she's cried about Lauren, a very long time. Now she looks at the photo with a distant sort of tingle in her hands, like a reverie of feeling; déjà vu from a time when her fingers knew the feeling of Lauren's skin beneath them. It's the only memory her fingers have left.

Madrid is less complicated, she thinks again. She snatches her phone from the end table, finding the text conversation on the bottom of her recent messages.

"hey, saw Numb hit platinum. congrats 😊" She types, hovering her thumb over the send button for a moment.

It's strange for her to send texts to Lauren, but Ally insists it will help her 'recovery.' Recovery from what, Camila didn't know. Ally wouldn't tell her. Camila doesn't owe Lauren anything, but she hits send anyway. She sets the phone facedown and watches the screen as the Late-Night Show starts.

She never gets used to seeing herself walking across the screen. The audience always sounds louder on television, like she hadn't realized the full extent of their praise on set. Jimmy held her album in his hands, and it reminds her of a time when its design was a red background beneath her sultry side-profile and the bangs that'd taken a half-hour to style before the photo was taken. Havana feels like a dream. It still lingers in her memory, a haze of exciting firsts; the delight of success too hardy to be undercut by the struggles of her transition to solo artistry. Tonight, he holds her new cover, a vibrant blue butterfly, it's wings accented with light oranges and it's center a deep navy blue. She cringes at her expression, brow raised suggestively as Jimmy points to the cover.

Her lungs struggle to fight against the pressure of the pillow, pulled tighter against her chest than ever as the moment approaches. She begins talking about the development of her voice as an artist, and her journey in representing the purest form of her emotion. It sounds eloquent, and so it should; she practiced it seven times pre-show. Camila's pulse jumps the instant Jimmy asks about the song's conception. Her emotions are in contrast to those she'd felt sitting in the studded leather seat. Her calm, then, could be attributed to the stage that always felt a cozier home than even Spain. She embodies Karla, now, the nervous wreck, but she lacks the popcorn to aid the transformation.

"'I Feel Like' was the first song that came to me. It turned out to be such a great start to the album. It was born out of this," Camila pauses on screen, looking up to the ceiling where her gaze hovers in between two studio lights until the next words came to her.

"Angst, because my ideas weren't connecting the way I wanted them to. So, when the chorus of 'I Feel Like' came to me–"

She sings a breathy, sped-up version of the chorus's first line, her finger following the pitch as it rises and falls along the words. Applause erupts in the audience in response and she replies with a smile that is now lost in her memory, overshadowed by the significance of the sentence then forming in her thoughts.

"It only felt right to follow it with I feel like girls. The first time I sang it over, it clicked." Camila throws her pillow off the bed as she jumps up, pumping her fist in the air. Her ear-to-ear smile keeps growing, and with each inch, it sends another wave of vibrations through her body. She feels like she's ringing, her body trembling under the giddy, transcendent joy.

"The Camilizers are unofficially calling this the 'CCO album." She nods to Jimmy. "And that stands for 'Camila Coming Out.' Do you support the nickname?" He asks. The bedsprings release one last whine as she lands, steadying herself to await her reply.

"I LOVE MY CAMILIZERS!" She shouts along with herself on the TV.

"But yeah, definitely, I do. It's my favorite hashtag." Camila places her hands under her chin and gives the audience a cheeky smile.

The bed squeaks under her weight once more as she jumps up and down with childlike enthusiasm. It's a strange thing, this joy. It mirrors the release of anxiety she'd encountered so many years ago when she'd come out to herself. Now, it's different. Like her music can finally be the exact reflection of her soul and her desire and experience. This is ecstasy.


	3. Chapter III

This is Lauren's own personal hell. She hasn't said a word since she entered Lee's office, but he is quick to follow his greeting with a comment that destroys what little energy she has left.

"You've relapsed."

She's lying face-up on the couch, scrolling through a social media feed on her phone to pass the slow-moving time of her therapy session when she pauses to glower his way. His head is tilted at a condescending angle that he has down to a science.

"She came out. On live TV," Lauren yells, her fingers drumming against the back of her phone. Her back is tense and the couch cushions give her no relief. She finds the words on her tongue but snaps her mouth shut before they escape. Lee clears his throat.

"Is Camila the reason you've relapsed?"

Lauren scoffs, rising from the couch to face away from him. He makes a 'hmm' sort of noise. She turns on her heels.

"No!" She says.

He only continues to nod without meeting her scowl.

"Camila," She sneers, "is not the reason. I didn't know about it. Not until after."

She collapses onto the couch again, facing the other direction this time so she can look out the window past her feet. Beyond the wasabi green walls of Lee's office, the city's skyline sits under the sun's glare and a bright, but gray sky. The emptiness of the blanched, overcast sky strains her squinted eyes and dulls her high-strung senses. She can feel the effect of the gray from her shoulders to her toes, where the lethargy seems to collect and spread a painful throbbing to the balls of her feet.

Lauren reaches for the decorative beige pillow at her knees and presses its embroidered face that reads 'healing', to the bridge of her nose. In the darkness of her mind's eye, she can almost see Lee's forehead crumple, bringing definition to the faint line of wrinkles across his middle-aged face. His crooked nose bothers her, but only because it complements the darkness of his gray-speckled brown hair and his tilted blue eyes. He had to be in his late forties, but he was classically handsome. His wife was gorgeous too, at least a decade younger. There's a photo of her in a cubby of the extravagant mahogany bookshelf behind the couch.

"Did she attempt to contact you?" Lee asks.

She grunts back. His khakis rustle against the canvas of his chair as he repositions himself. He's deep in thought, and while she doesn't like this tic of Lee's, she much prefers it over her last psychologist, who hummed in lieu of banter. Lee hasn't accused Lauren of being egotistical, either, as the hummer from Houston had.

While Lee ruminates on the nature of her silence, she's brooding over the time still left in their session. Management, the squeaky-clean bastards, she thinks, mandated an hour of 'anger' therapy each week and only ten minutes have passed.

"Will you please come to a conclusion, already?" Lauren says beneath the pillow.

"I'm just waiting to be fixed, here."

He releases a long sigh. He inhales, then exhales again - more of a huff this time. Oh please, she thinks.

"I heard you will perform at the AMAs tomorrow, your new single." He says.

She doesn't answer and awaits the beginning of some enlightening metaphor that is sure to follow.

"She will be there as well." He says instead. Lauren grasps the pillow on her face and flings it across the room in his direction. When she rises to her sore feet, he's grasping the pillow in his free hand. He throws it back to the couch where it lands upside down.

"I take it that you're looking forward to seeing your old friend," Lee says, raising a brow.

She paces between the window and the other end of the room, a wall plastered with Lee's accolades. His diploma is centered above his desk: Masters in Psychology, Stanford University. On either side there are framed certificates; awards he's won, outreach programs he's been a part of.

Lauren unclenches her fists only to wipe away the sweat beneath her hair. Beads of it have fallen from the top of her neck and settled in the small of her back, where a new ache is developing. Lee's eyes follow her pacing, then her hands as they work backward to massage her lower back.

"Body aches. Has the nausea set in, yet?" He asks.

"That's not what this is," She snaps. Her eyes quickly drop to the rug.

"Faith told me everything," He says.

F.O, Lauren's sober companion, is boiling her blood once again. She's a witch, controlling her emotions from afar. From a distance, her stupidity is turning up the heat beneath Lauren, and she's skipping on hot coals as it is.

"You've evaded her once again. How many times is that, just this month? Ten? Lauren, I'm afraid you know what comes next. Our agreement has clear-cut guidelines. I've overlooked it several times too many in favor of your recovery, but I need to see change."

Lauren releases an exasperated groan. Her face jumps between a scowl and a frown, and she feels a sting in her eyes as the ache in her back intensifies. Fear of the words that will come from Lee next rises in her chest. She collapses onto the couch and kicks at the armrests with her sore feet.

Lauren holds her stomach. The nausea hasn't come, but by tomorrow it will. It's the headache and the tremors that she hates most, and they come after. She hasn't made it past a week in several months.

"Your dependency on opioids is serious, Lauren," He almost whispers. There are tears pooling in her eyes, now.

"And at this point, the only recommendation I can make to your management team is hospitalization." She slams her fists against the cushions, burying her face in the blankets folded over them. The commotion shakes her head, bringing about a strain in her neck that will no doubt lead to an impromptu headache later.

"And this is in the case that they'll support a hiatus of your tour, which isn't likely. You're looking at being dropped, Lauren," Lee says, a distant mumble over her wails.

She hears only key phrases as he continues, "24-hour supervision," then, "tour cancellation," and finally, "hospitalization" again. And she feels, as she has before, as if this is rock bottom. Her tears give her no comfort, they are as painful as the pounding in her head. Her chest is so hollow, she is so hollow. Lee raises his voice to a yell.

"But I am willing to make you a deal, in favor of your overall treatment."

Lauren tears are passing over the inflamed skin just above her cheekbones when he finishes, and she perks up.

"Anything," She promises between groans.

Lee is rubbing his hands against one another, creating a horrible chaffing noise that grinds against her tender eardrums. There's a tilt to his mouth as he prepares to speak again, a hesitation that she's never seen before. Lee is nothing if not annoyingly sure of himself and his treatment plans.

"I believe that you may have an opportunity to relieve yourself of the trauma that I believe drives your dependencies." He begins.

"I will overlook your relapse if you are able to show me that you've made amends with Camila Cabello."

Lauren pales. Lee has found the only thing Lauren Jauregui fears as much as withdrawal.


	4. Chapter IV

Camila's midnight-blue gown slinks across the red carpet behind her, making her own practiced gait look graceless in comparison. The gown's v-neck cuts down below her breast bone, leaving her skin bare and chilled where the cool air touches it. As she walks further down the carpet, the rooms become stuffy and the chill, a distant memory.

Each arrival along the buffet of the AMA's red carpet has their own heat, their own smell. They combine in a sumptuous scent, like a passionate olfactory exchange between Calvin Klein and Chanel; she wore the latter.

The line of them crawls along. Every thirty seconds she faces a new crowd of photographers who holler for her attention. She molds her expression to a pursed sort of smirk and lifts her blue-tinted, winged smokey eyes to the photographers. It's a habit, now, to keep her grin in check. Though she isn't so averse to diversity in her photos, she prefers they come out well and it's astonishing to see the slew of unpleasant pictures that can be taken as a smile grows. The eyes sometimes start squinted, or take longer to catch up to the crinkling in the cheeks, and she finds that the final photo is only worth the risk of bad photos if the smile is genuine. Tonight, and truthfully on most red carpets, before the interviews, it is not. So, she wears the same warm but uninviting expression throughout her photos.

There's a hard and uneven thumping in her chest as she enters the interview pit. She feels like she's being squeezed too tightly, all of her blood rushing away from her heart and filling her extremities with an uncomfortable pressure. A sea of celebrities ready for the bumping-into, and yet her anxiety is ready to carry her away. Bumping-into isn't her favorite pastime. One day, she may bump someone she doesn't want to see - doesn't know how to see. It weighs on her mind and her chest, this uncertain eventuality. She grooms the chiffon over her hips and tries to push it from her thoughts.

"Hey, stranger." A hand lands on her bare shoulder. She flinches away from it but falls back when her glance lands on an old friend's hazel locks.

"Oh my gosh, you scared me!" She leans down to embrace Ally. The pinkish silk of her dress is slippery against Camila's palms.

"I'm so glad to see you." Camila groans.

"Clearly. You were looking a little weary, there. Everything alright?" Ally's wide-grin lessens, her dark brown eyes squinting at Camila.

They share words within their glimpse. As if it's written across her pupils, or felt across her skin, Ally seems to know exactly what's on Camila's mind. It's this understanding that's so innate to Ally and so magnetizing. Madrid is home, but Ally's knowing glare is family. With one glance, she feels safe. All the things that Spain has to offer seem scarce when she reunites with friends, and especially Ally.

"Don't worry," Ally whispers, "You'll only see her perform." And that's what she says most years. Most years, Lauren doesn't show at all. They have an unspoken agreement to avoid one another at all costs. Whatever bits of their relationship remain are unspoken.

Camila makes her way through interviews with Ally by or near her side. Eventually, Normani joins them further down. She's nominated for the Favorite Pop/Rock Album, her first album since the girls separated. Camila streams it constantly. Normani is wearing a lace dress, the merlot-color a compliment to her dark skin and its tightness a favor to her curves. Camila saw her several months back at an event, and then at dinner with Ally after, but her pixie cut has grown out since then. Her dark brown hair now brushes against her ears and cups the edges of her diamond jawline.

"Have you heard anything from Dinah?" Camila asks as they're ushered to the next stage of the awards.

She's the only one missing, besides Lauren. They, too, have an unspoken agreement to stay clear of the events one another attends. She became Lauren's property in their separation, and Camila hadn't argued. But it wasn't because she wanted - or could bear - Dinah's absence. On the contrary, Camila misses Dinah every day.

"She's doing good. She's at her place in New York, with–" Ally pauses. Camila knows the end of the sentence.

"Speaking of places, how's Spain?" Normani asks.

They find their place around a standing table in the pre-show rest area. A staff member stops and gestures to the champagne glasses atop the dish in his other hand. Camila grabs two, one for herself and the other for Ally beside her. Normani takes her own.

"Any cute boys?" Normani continues. Ally coughs up her sip of champagne as Normani finishes, having inhaled it in a spontaneous gasp. Camila rubs her back, and Normani tilts her head at their wordless exchange.

"Everywhere," Camila replies.

She remembers her first month in Spain. It was as much an exploration of the place as it was the culture, the people, the men. Chiseled jaws beneath dark brown stubble and perfect tans. Arms as big as both of hers combined, and chests like great bulls. She enjoyed her morning coffee with a table full of them, and she'd flirted ruthlessly. One, in particular, a boy her age named Miguel, became her closest friend. He was conventionally beautiful but unconventionally attractive. His features were perfectly symmetrical and his chocolate eyes were just big enough to stare into her soul, but there was something about him that was attractive. Like an inherent magnetism. She fell for him before she knew that Miguel was falling for the men around her café table. Still, Miguel remained one of her closest confidants near home.

But Normani knew about Miguel. Camila fascinates her instead with a tale of Andre, the Engineer from Barcelona. If she hadn't been involved, Andre could've easily been her next target.

There's a silence when she finishes talking. Ally fills it with a grunt.

"And any cute girls?" Ally asks. She then takes a long sip of her drink. Normani is nodding her head, mouth agape after making sense of Ally's hesitation earlier.

"You watched it!" Camila squeals. Ally jumps with her, and their table is alive in the shrill but exciting shrieking.

"Not that we needed to. Girl, this has been a long time coming," Normani rolls her eyes with a playful grin, but Ally stops mid-jump, willing gravity to pull her down as she widens her eyes at Normani. She looks between Normani and Camila, as if with two puffs of harsh air Camila will fall back into the closet.

"What? I'm just sayin', they weren't that stealthy."

Camila lies her hand atop Ally's and grins. On her eyes, she writes, it's okay, and Ally seems to understand. Her posture relaxes as she looks back to Normani.

"Everywhere. There are cute girls everywhere," Camila replies.

Madrid lodged many men. Noble men, attractive men, successful and kind men. But Madrid lived and breathed women. The place thrived on the sharpness of their minds. Spanish women were the great delicacy of Madrid. It teemed with their gentle but defined features; blackish hair, dark eyes, plump red lips and the kind of curves that American women worked years for. Camila wrote several songs on CC3 about one such woman.

"I met someone."

The table is once again engulfed by the distant chatter of lively conversations while their own is stagnant. Normani is the first to speak.

"Well ... Tell me everything!"

Camila grins and begins on the great tangent of attraction and lust, then like and now, possibly, with some work and some hope, love. Her discourse, a year of tales with her girlfriend, Emilia, condensed into the most impactful memories, is interrupted by a tall figure behind them.

Camila's jaw drops at the sight of her face. Her tongue weighs down on her teeth, holding her mouth open with the weight of a thousand words and sentences that she's not quite sure how to say.


	5. Chapter IV.II

"Dinah, what're you doing here?" Normani asks. She's hugging her the next moment before Dinah has the chance to reply. Ally is more hesitant but she eventually embraces Dinah just the same. Camila is left standing, jaw still agape, at the end of the table. She hasn't touched her drink yet, but she takes a hardy sip now.

Dinah clearly isn't here for the awards. She's wearing jeans and a thin off-white sweater under her leather jacket, her blonde hair falling over a plaid scarf.

"Hi, Camila."

Hearing her name from Dinah's lips for the first time in over five years - almost six, by now - is shocking. Camila stands still there. She wants to reach her hand out and shake Dinah's as if she's meeting her all over again. She could be a different person. They feel like strangers. It's strange.

"Dinah."

Ally's eyes scrape between Dinah and Camila. Camila takes deep and even breaths, watching her for signs of how to proceed. Dinah doesn't exhibit the same concern for what's to come.

"I need a favor," she says.

"Anything." Camila doesn't hesitate to reply.

Her mind fills with theories. Ideas rush into her brain like trains to a station. Like a railway, but with more trains than tracks. Carriages are scattered about the dirty yard, but where and how they fit together and where they were going, she hasn't a clue.

"Come," She says, turning and indicating a path for Camila to follow.

Camila wanders along behind her. A quote keeps floating into her mind, something about wandering. It's hardly relevant, almost nonsensical, really, but she can't seem to stop it from recurring. Perhaps the repetition is an easier occupation for her mind than wondering.

They turn the corner into a backstage hallway. The hall's floor is a seamless black linoleum. It has a bright sheen to it under the fluorescent light of the pendants hanging from the tall ceiling above. The matte white of the walls help to center her, but she still feels as if they're closing in on her.

"How are you?" Camila mumbles.

"I'm not here to talk," Dinah says without so much a glance in her direction.

She walks forward, speaking only with the determination of her heels landing against the floor. No, she isn't here to talk at all. The air turns colder as they walk away from the crowds of the pre-show. The hair on her forearms stands tall, and it's debatable if the chill has anything to do with it. She gulps hard as they reach the end of the hallway and Dinah stops.

In the back of Camila's thoughts, behind her better sense of logic and upon a mound of horror movies that used to keep her up all night, she thinks, for a moment, that Dinah has brought her back here to dispose of her. The ill will between them isn't malicious, but their distance leaves an air of mystery between the two.

"I'm here to guard," She says, crossing her arms.

Camila raises her brow. To guard? The door behind Camila opens and before she can react she's pulled into a dark closet behind her.

"What the hell?" She yells as the hand on her arm yanks her further into the room. Camila's eyes adjust to the room's darkness, but as soon as the door to the bright hallway is shut, there's no light to help her transition. She considers screaming, but Dinah is the only one outside the door and it's likely a lost cause.

Camila's heart starts beating wildly, filling her body with the same uneasy pressure and suddenly, in the pitch dark and with not so much as a breath to confirm it, she knows who she's sharing the room with.

There's a shuffle in front of her, then a rattle as a pull string light is turned on. The warm light fills the room, but Camila feels colder than she has the whole night.

"Lauren."

Half in shadows, her green eyes look an iridescent grey where they touch the light. She's as intimidating as ever, hidden behind the light, her dark hair bleeding into the shadows like some apparition. Camila isn't sure she isn't at first, but Lauren steps forward into the light. The luster of her piercing sets tiny star-shaped reflections across her high cheekbones.

Camila reacts first with a dumbfounded stare, but the inaction eventually festers inside of her and forms an unrelenting panic. A panic of words left unsaid, a flurry of emotions better left uncommunicated, and a chaotic collection of memories that she can't begin to arrange into simple thoughts. Camila is caught in Lauren's eyes, her intense chatoyant eyes that are staring across the supply closet at her. Lauren's expression is blank, completely blank.

She steps in front of Camila as she walks forward to escape. She tries to step beside her, but Lauren stops her hand.

"I need to go, Lauren. Let me o-"

"Listen, Camila," She interrupts, stepping forward towards Camila before she has the chance to run for the door again. Camila retreats back to avoid her touch.

"You always did love control," Camila says. She chuckles, but her chest doesn't shake as much as it trembles under the growing weight of her anxiety.

"Camz, listen," Lauren pleads.

"Don't call me that." Camila spits. She glowers at the furrow of Lauren's brow as she's met with resistance. Oh, she's mad? Camila thinks. She doesn't have the right to be mad.

Lauren seems overtaken with her own sort of panic, but it presents itself as downturned lips and widened eyes that look mocking to Camila – does she expect an embrace?

Camila imagined this moment - the day they spoke with one another again - in her head as often as she breathed; and it was as inevitable a reaction to life as breath, some result of their history and the moments they shared together that shaped Camila's existence as much as her first breath, this first love.

She imagined civility. She imagined a calm sort of indifference to Lauren. She imagined that the near six years they spent apart would make a difference to what Camila felt when she looked into her eyes, even over a photo. She imagined that sending texts was progress and that their greetings could be as amiable and aloof as her messages were. But seeing Lauren, feeling Lauren just feet away from her, brings back things she's forgotten. Things she pushed away.

"Listen," Lauren repeats.

Camila fights against her urge to comply. Something about the familiarity of an old friend coaxes her ears to take pause. She tries to hold onto the belief that this isn't the Lauren she misses, but the faith is lost on her. Stronger than the desire to reconcile with Lauren are the questions, the need for an answer to the reason there has to be a distance between them. So, in her flurry of emotions, Camila chooses anger.

"You left me!" She throws her hands down.

Camila's eyes settle on Lauren as a habit, but she can't hold her gaze. She looks into her eyes and she sees the cold ceramic tile of a hotel bathroom. She can still taste the salt of tears falling down her cheeks, over her lips. Under that, the relief to be somewhere alone. The frigid solitude of the bathroom was a blessing compared to what she'd face outside that door. The effort spent concealing the unmistakable puffiness under her raw eyes was punishment, enough. And the anxiety, the sadness, the darkness, and the questions.

"You were my best friend, my favorite person, my," Camila pauses to reign control over the sting in her eyes that she won't watch grow into tears.

"You were everything, and then you were gone." She pauses, but Lauren only stares blankly back at her.

"I don't know what you're here for. I was hoping for an apology," Camila says. To this, Lauren scoffs, putting her weight to one hip as she leans back.

"But you can't just come back, Lauren. I–I-I don't want you back," She says, but her voice cracks at the words. Her throat shakes like a tremor of regret. Now that she's said it, she can't take it back. I don't want to, anyway, she thinks.

Lauren relaxes her offensive position as if Camila's words have broken it. Her nude lips are parted, but one begins to quiver. She presses them together to hide it, but Camila sees it just before she steps back, half in the darkness once more. Camila's heart stutters, and she can't believe what she's done. Lauren had done it to her - hurt her - hadn't she? The tears, the heartbroken surprise - all of it and more; and for what? Still, Camila feels no justice in returning the favor.

"I don't want you back either," She spits, but there's a gray area in her tone. Camila can't begin to decide what side of determination it falls on. Lauren tilts her head down into darkness. When she looks up again, her eyes are decided.

"Look, the fact is," Lauren begins with a steady, indifferent inclination that Camila yearns to replicate, "I need a favor."

Camila falls back into her dumbfounded stare. Her lips part, then close, and part once again before she finds her words.

"A favor? You want a favor?"

"Need," Lauren corrects.

"Oh, you need a favor," Camila laughs, because want or need it didn't make any difference at all. Lauren hadn't changed, had she? She offers no apology for who she is and Camila loved it once. She hates it, now, because more and more it's beginning to reveal itself as stubbornness, not bravery.

"Showtime, Lauren," Dinah says after two sturdy knocks on the closet door.

"Just wait!" Lauren yells back. She runs her fingers through her dark hair. She doesn't seem to notice, too distracted by the notion of Camila's answer.

"You need a favor? I need an explanation." Camila says.

The closet falls silent. Behind the concrete walls of it, not even the chatter of the event can rile the stillness of the air. Lauren's long breaths are the only thing filling the silence. Camila's heart, even, adapts the same pattern. She's calm, watching Lauren when there's no expectation in it. As she awaits an answer, the questions don't bombard her. In the possibility of silence before an answer, Camila's mind is allowed to wander towards positive eventualities. She forbade this kind of thinking years ago, when Lauren had first pulled away from her and into her own bitter world. Every single time, this kind of thinking, positive thinking, left her more hurt than acceptance would've. She gave it up, the hope. And yet here she is, working with some speck of hope that Lauren has changed, Lauren will change, maybe Lauren never really changed at all. And then Lauren's head shakes gently side to side. It's a subconscious gesture, not likely intended as a response - but it is one. Camila's heart fumbles, fighting to catch the speck as it lifts into the air. It grows little wings, flapping them wildly to avoid the cold floor, but the air, too, is cold and it prefers Camila's grip, but Camila can't seem to hold on to it, that hope. It flies further away from her heart as Lauren steps back into the shadows.

Camila, as if acting on some desire that rose suddenly in her chest, reaches out for Lauren's hand. She catches it. She's looking at Lauren and Lauren back at her, both in shadows, staring at each other's silhouettes; and it's as if nothing has changed with their faces now engulfed in darkness. Neither has a spark of recognition in their eyes, there are no features to recognize; just a dark silhouette for each of them of somebody that's shaped like someone they used to know. But Camila's palm is shaped to the back of Lauren's hand, and her thumb is pressed to Lauren's wrist where she feels a faint but rapid pulse beneath it. And there's recognition to be had in her heart's melody, and the warmth of their hands together. Camila can't seem to move. She has moved on, literally. She's met someone, someone who makes her happy. But with her hand in Lauren's, she can hardly remember her name. In Lauren's hand, she's paralyzed. The moment lasts forever for her and it's not nearly long enough. When Lauren pulls away, Camila's thumb is still thumping where her pulse had been. She flinches away from the brightness of the hallway as Lauren storms out.

"Wha-?" Dinah mumbles as she watches Lauren flee the other direction. She looks back to Camila, her features contracting into a glower.

But she doesn't say anything, and Dinah isn't one to hold back her words. At least she wasn't, Camila thinks, but it doesn't seem likely that it has changed. And in that short moment, she and Dinah seem to share something with one another: how unfortunate, their glares say, how unfortunate, our friend's stubbornness. And Camila knows it isn't in her head, because Dinah holds her eyes with her pleading stare. Don't give up, it says. Camila already has, and yet here she is. Perhaps there is no giving up on Lauren Jauregui. And if there is, Camila isn't good at it.


	6. Chapter V

_Camila Cabello is my best friend._

A sixteen-year-old Lauren Jauregui writes beneath the date _October 12th, 2012, _in her black-faced journal.

_She's so much more than a friend, too. We're like . . ._

Lauren pauses to find the right word. She chews mindlessly on the plastic clip of her mechanical pencil. Her chest is down against the bed and she's propped up over her notebook by her elbows. She kicks her feet in the air behind her.

_Soulmates. That sounds weird, it's not in a weird way. I like boys. We're just SO close, and everything fits. It's been, what, only a few months since we were placed together as a group? But she understands me. And that's why we're so close because we get each other more than we've ever got anyone else before. It sounds so weird to read it, but if I'm writing about my life I have to talk about Camila. Camz has become such a big part of my life, and I think I've become important to her too. It's one of those friendships that you know, from the start, it will last forever. I can't wait to share my li–_

Lauren stops writing when the door to her room opens. Camila skips in and jumps beside her on the bed, giggling as Lauren fumbles between the pages of her diary to hide her writing. Camila's body presses against Lauren's as she rolls on top of her, blowing at the tips of her ears. Lauren writhes beneath her, she can't stand the shivers down her neck. It's her secret tickle spot, but nothing between Lauren and Camila ever stays secret.

"CAMZ!" Lauren flips over, throwing Camila off of her back. She rolls across the bed and the white bow clip in her hair slides down the back of her head. She doesn't notice, too busy running her fingers against Lauren's sides to tickle her. Lauren can't stand being tickled, but Camila's giggle somehow pulls her through the pain. And she can't help laughing too, smiling so wide it hurts her pink cheeks.

"What're you hiding?!" She says between fits of giggles, reaching for Lauren's outstretched hand where she held her journal. She gets close to it once or twice, her nails grazing the cover.

"TELL ME!" Camila roars.

"NEVER!" Lauren cries, twisting herself over Camila, bouncing onto all fours to lock her knees around Camila's hips. Lauren hovers over her face for a moment, watching her pink lips press together. She has this concentrated look, her deep brown eyes creased at the edges as she struggles to move from beneath Lauren. Lauren lifts her shoulders into the air, Camila trapped beneath her and the journal safely elevated in the air.

"Hah!" Lauren exclaims in victory.

Camila pouts, but her smile soon overtakes it. The girls pant, catching their breaths from their battle. _This _is why she loves Camila Cabello. Everything with her is fun.

"But really, what were you writing about?" Camila asks innocently.

"You." Lauren _boops_ the tip of her nose with her finger. Camila playfully snaps her teeth at her finger but Lauren pulls back before she can catch her.

"Can I read it?" Lauren groans.

"Come on, I let you read mine!"

And that's true, but Camila's diary is more or less a fan page for One Direction. She hardly ever writes about herself, and when she does, it's what she's _thinking _about One Direction. The most personal thing she'd ever written was a memoir about moving from Cuba to Miami with her mother. Lauren reads it over every time Camila's diary is within reach. There's just so much emotion in it, but it isn't cheesy. It's real, just like Camila.

"Ugh, fine." Lauren climbs off of Camila and falls beside her, facing towards the ceiling. She raises the diary in the air and flips to the latest page, then hands it to Camila.

Lauren stares at Camila, biting her lip as she reads it.

"Aww, Laur," Camila tilts her head over, wearing the tiniest of grins across her wide mouth that makes the edges of her lips crinkle.

"You're my best friend, too."

Her cheeks blush a rosy pink as she continues. _How could anyone not love Camila? _Lauren thinks. Every time she sees her, she wonders how Camila doesn't have a boyfriend. She's just so . . . cutesy. If Lauren were a boy, she would date Camila in a second. But being a girl is better, they get to be so much closer than a couple.

Camila's cheeks blush as she reads further and her smile only seems to grow. When she finishes, she leans onto her side, looking down on Lauren.

Camila just grins, and Lauren grins back. She presses her finger against the tip of Lauren's nose, making a _boop_ noise as she does. Then she pulls away, and whispers,

"You're my whole life."


	7. Chapter VI

The light peaks beyond the curtains of Camila's hotel room. Even beneath her eyelids, the warmth finds her pupils and wakes her from a light sleep. She groans, crinkling her features as she turns to her side. Her bones ache. Not even the luxurious comfort of a four-star hotel's king-sized bed could pull her through her uneven slumber.

Camila is accustomed to this rest without _sleep. _Her restlessness was like an unwanted race against her anxieties in which she's forced to face the sky-tall hurdles that she couldn't hope to make it over, especially in the darkness of night; so she walked slowly around them, but they recurred, and her mind crawled across the track until she collapsed under the weight of her exhaustion. The hurdles changed but in shades and not color. Like the same sentence, but rephrased. The same name, but with a different connotation. _Lauren._

The award show was a mess after Camila and Lauren met in the dingy supply closet. It was a whirl of confusion beneath the mask she wore for her acceptance of Artist of The Year. And an AMA award, just below a Grammy; it's her dream_._ For it to be overshadowed by _a girl_? _That girl must be something special_, she thinks, _or something devastating_._  
_

Camila throws the comforter off of her and jumps out of its embrace. She circles her arms in the air in a tired stretch. The bottoms of her bare feet squirm as they walk over the cool tile in the bathroom to the mirror**, **where her reflection is barely a resemblance. She frowns at the knotted brown tendrils extending from her messy bun, slipping over the dark circles under her eyes. She looks away from it before she finds something else to cringe at across her face. Her body is in a hangover-like state from the night before, but no alcohol had contributed unless Lauren's intoxicating appearance was up for the count.

There are three steady knocks on the door of her hotel room. She stops her toothbrush mid-stroke to lean her head out of the bathroom, staring with squinted eyes at the door. She hopes for some indication that it's room service. When it doesn't come, she spits her mouthful into the sink, leaving a grit of minty paste on her teeth as she heads to the door. She hardens her resolve and raises her eye to the peephole.

_Dinah Jane Hansen_. She removes the chain lock and opens the door.

"Hi?" Her greeting in itself is a request for an explanation. Dinah's appearance at her door is as sudden as it is déjà vu inducing. Dinah slinks beneath her arm and enters her room.

"Please come in..." Camila mutters to herself.

She shuts the door behind her and follows Dinah to the window. She rises to her tip-toes and pulls back the drapes, filling the room with blinding brightness. Camila squints at Dinah's silhouette against the window.

"Are you here to lure me into a trap again?"

Dinah pauses, crossing her arms as she thinks.

"We'll see." She shrugs.

Camila's eyes tire of the strain from the brightness, so she looks away and retreats to find her suitcase in the closet by the door.

"What did you say to Lauren?" Dinah asks as Camila picks a piece of clothing from her messy suitcase.

"She needs a _favor._" Camila mindlessly folds her clothes, staring blankly into the closet. "I told her what I needed to help her."

Dinah pumps her foot against the carpet as if to say '_and ...?_'. Camila sets the folded shirt into the suitcase beside a lump of unsorted clothing.

"I'll help Lauren when she explains why she threw it all away." She spits.

Dinah only rolls her eyes.

"Mila!" She chides. "No wonder she stormed out of there."

"Why is that so unreasonable, Dinah? _You_ of all people should know that Lauren is too stubborn to give it up without some motivation." Camila almost recoils at the bitter tone of her words, and towards Dinah, no less. It doesn't seem to affect Dinah's determination.

"And I, of all people, know why."

"Then why?" Camila yells.

"I can't tell you that Walz–" She stumbles over her words and the nickname slips. "Camila," She corrects. But Camila is still reacting to the familiar sound of it.

"Even if I wanted to help her, and that's a _big_ if, I don't even know what's wrong with her," Camila says, an unpleasant but newly calm tone to her voice. Dinah hesitates again.

"But let me guess, you can't tell me that either." Dinah holds her accusing stare but she's silent.

"Then talk to me when you can," Camila says.

Dinah proceeds to stare at her blankly as she folds the rest of her suitcase, then collapses on the bed with her arms still crossed as Camila dresses.

"Where are you going?" Dinah says as Camila emerges from the bathroom in a white button-up chiffon blouse and tight denim jeans. It's only when she steps into a pair of pink ankle-strap platforms that Dinah knows she won't like the answer.

"No heels. You're leaving, aren't you?" Camila doesn't respond, silently tying a denim choker around her neck.

"Back to Spain!?" Dinah shouts, taken aback by the message in her silence.

"Mila, you can't!" There's a desperation in her voice, but Camila forces herself to ignore it. She walks past Dinah, giving the hotel room one last check before she zips her suitcase.

"My flight is in an hour and a half and the airport is fifteen minutes away," she says. She pulls her suitcase from the closet, setting it up-right in front of her and staring into Dinah's pleading brown eyes.

"I need to leave." But Camila isn't talking about her flight, anymore.

Dinah stares at Camila as she opens the door, gesturing outside of it. Dinah doesn't move.

"Suit yourself," she says, walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

She flinches as the door's opening echoes through the hallway. They're silent beside one another in the elevator, then in the lobby as Camila checks out, and especially as they exit the building. Camila's car pulls up to the curb right on cue, and she looks to Dinah.

"I'm sorry, Dinah, but I can't help Lauren any more than you can."

She holds her eyes for a moment, but she can't bear it. The first step away from her is like one foot back in Madrid; comfortable, safe, happy, _distant._ She places her suitcase in the back of the car and climbs in. When she looks back to the hotel's front, Dinah is gone.

Then the car door pops open.

"Dinah, no," Camila says as she slips into the backseat. She is relentless.

"LAX, please," She claps her hand against the driver's seat. The driver hesitates, looking between Dinah and Camila in the rear view with a confused, almost worried expression spread across her face.

"You heard me," Dinah growls, and that seems to determine the girl.

Camila rolls her eyes and stares out the window as they pull out.

"Mila, listen," She begins.

"You spend too much time with Lauren. You two sound just the same." Camila says.

"Shut yo' mouth and listen up!" Dinah yells. Camila raises her brow, looking to Dinah.

"_Excuse me?_" Camila is stunned.

"You can't leave _again_. You can't walk – no, run! – away from this. One day, that's all I'm asking."

"I'm not running from anything," Camila throws her hands in the air as if to emphasize the emptiness of it. The girl in the front is stealing glances back at the two.

"I'm–I'm sitting!" Camila says with the faintest hint of a grin. Dinah scowls.

"You're running," She repeats. Dinah isn't stupid, but right now she stinks of ignorance to Camila.

"I'm not running from anything, Dinah. You don't understand, there's nothing _to_ run from."

With Dinah staring back at her, she can't conjure the strength to control the sting in her eyes. She looks out the window instead, but not before Dinah catches a glimpse of her. It works in her favor because Dinah seems to sit on her words for the rest of the ride. It's not until they climb out of the car onto the red carpet of the VIP departures entrance that she speaks again.

"You can help her. Just one day, Mila," Dinah says.

Camila sighs. She exhales the last of her anger and inhales the cool humidity of L.A's air.

"How can I help her if I don't know what's wrong with her?" Camila asks again, seriously this time.

"No," Dinah says, "_You _can help her."

Camila stares at her blankly. She doesn't move an inch.


	8. Chapter VII

Lauren arrives at the café at half-past twelve. Dinah chose the location – a Starbucks on the top of 6th Avenue, hardly a block down from Lauren's hotel. Still, Lauren is bitter about having to leave her hotel at all. But she's thankful for the short walk, nonetheless; her head hurts badly.

The weather is abiding, now, but New York is getting colder each time Lauren returns. The city hadn't seen its first snow yet, but it's coming. She can feel it in the nippy humidity at night, but the clear sky today has the moisture swelling in the sunlight.

She's in the process of removing her leather jacket when she enters the crowded coffee shop. The commotion of it all has her head spinning. She's forced to jostle through a group of loitering hipsters at the entrance. The body of the line snakes through the shop, trailing all the way to the back where its tail is curled into a collection of impatient customers. Lauren finds Dinah at a circular table tucked into the back corner. The head of the line is completely hidden behind the crowd. She sets her jacket on the free chair and collapses into the one opposite Dinah.

"Nice place," Lauren chides. She can feel Dinah rolling her eyes under her large sunglasses. Lauren takes hers off. There isn't much chance for recognition in the madness of this crowd. The coffee makers behind her hiss like trains pulling into a station. The chatter of the crowd blends together with it to create a chaotic choir, like Grand Central with coffee.

"The Ritz has breakfast, you know," She says. "We could've saved a walk. You could've saved the terminator sunglasses..."

Dinah doesn't reply, mindlessly shredding her napkin into tiny pieces. She glances up from the pile.

"You have quite a glow, this afternoon," Dinah says.

Its Lauren's turn to stay silent, now. Dinah knows what it means if Lauren has a glow in the afternoon. She's already leaned in to take a look at her pupils.

"How was your night?" Her interrogation continues.

"The Gramercy is always accommodating," Lauren mumbles, though Dinah doesn't need any affirmation to know as much.

"No drinks?" Lauren says to change the stagnant subject. There's nothing else to say about it, especially after Los Angeles.

Dinah knows the path Lauren walks, or as she sees it, the lack thereof. _Not all who wander are lost, _Lauren thinks, but Dinah is free to think as she wishes. Lauren is the one using, not Dinah. Lauren knows she has control over it, Dinah doesn't. It's a difference of opinion, an agree to disagree scenario. But, _boy_, does Dinah know how to disagree. She talked with Lee too much. _Oh god, Lee,_ Lauren thinks. She was supposed to come up with some sappy speech about the process of forgiveness last night. The nausea was distracting. She'll do it tonight. With some stroke of luck, he'll eat it up. She'd fooled him once before, she can do it again.

"They're coming," Dinah replies.

"Good. And a croissant?" She raises her brow, grinning at Dinah expectantly. She barely smirks. _Someone's in a mood._

"Yep," She replies, but she's looking around the coffee shop.

"You're mad at me?" Lauren says. Dinah's eyes finally fall on her.

"You know I'll always show up anyway," She repeats. Lauren smirks.

She raises her hand to thank the barista, who has just set a small baggie and drink carrier on the table in front of her. The barista begins to pull a seat away. Lauren grabs the chair, opening her mouth to stop her from taking her jacket with it when she recognizes the girl. Lauren's hand drops.

Camila's eyes are locked on the drinks as she sits. She picks up the latte closest to her, then grabs Dinah's frappuccino and sets it in front of her before she finally delivers Lauren's latte. Camila glances up at her, holding her eyes for a fraction of a second before she retreats to the comfort of her drink. She takes a sip, tongue first to test the temperature of the latte. Her sip is slow, hesitant, as if she can feel Lauren's eyes on her. When she sets the cup down, she looks to Dinah.

"Long line," Camila mumbles. Her hands fall to her lap, crossing neatly over her knees. Her head wanders in Lauren's direction, but her eyes don't follow, like they haven't gathered the nerve yet. They look to Lauren's latte, first.

"It's pumpkin spice," She says as if it's of any concern to Lauren.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Lauren spits at Dinah. Dinah finally seems to have grown a smile. Now, it nettles Lauren more than Camila's _surprise_ appearance. She crinkles her fingers into a fist just to stop them from reaching out and tearing the smug look off of Dinah's face.

Camila's latte makes a shrill bubbling noise as she slurps more air through the lid than coffee. Her eyes seem to be wandering anywhere other than Lauren.

"I didn't ask for this," Lauren says.

"Oh, didn't you?" Camila says to the top of her cup. "I remember it differently."

"I've changed my mind," Lauren sneers.

"Okay," Camila breathes, pushing her seat out and rising. Dinah's arm establishes a sudden and tenacious grip on her tiny forearm. It looks painful. Her eyes are on Lauren, though, and she brandishes her squint like a weapon.

"_You shut it._" Dinah points her finger right between Lauren's eyes.

"And you," She looks to Camila, then points to the floor. Camila abides immediately, falling back into her seat.

"You need this, Lauren. You should be kissing my ass for dragging this one back. She wants to be here just about as much as you do."

Lauren's eyes widen, jumping between Camila and Dinah. _Camila didn't even come back by herself, she was dragged. _Another difference of opinion between Lauren and Dinah; their trusting nature. Lauren knows Camila will never come back. Dinah does not. In agree to disagree, Dinah always finds a way to choose flat disagreement instead.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Camila starts, "Whatever favor you need of me, it better be done before then." 


	9. Chapter VIII

Only twenty minutes before the new year: 2013. Camila feels so futuristic. So much has changed. She was just in high school last year. Now she’s in a girl group fresh out the X-Factor, spending New Year’s Eve with Lauren Jauregui - her best friend and the most beautiful girl she’s ever met, inside and out.

Lauren sits beside her at the end of the table in Camila’s backyard. There are icicle lights still hung over the splintered fence around their yard, leftover decorations from Christmas. Camila keeps itching at her “Happy New Year’s” crown, but she keeps it on. The poke-dot plastic party horn between her teeth and the beads around her neck would look ridiculous, otherwise. Lauren’s eyes are on her, her plump lips pulled into a tight smirk.

“Cutesy,” Lauren says. Camila takes the party horn from her mouth.

“It was for the selfie! Don’t you want to look festive?”

“I think you are festive enough for the two of us.”

Lauren’s hiccup-like giggle becomes the only noise around the table as the adults go silent. Lauren’s mom, sitting at the opposite end of the table with her father, glares down at Lauren as if to say: be civilized, but this only plunges the girls into another fit of laughter. They’re soon excused.

They rise from the table, bumping shoulders as they make their way to the back door. Camila takes Lauren’s hand as she slips through the door behind her. Lauren looks at her, walking backwards through the living room.

“Do you want to see my coin collection?” Lauren asks.

“And I’m the weird one?” Camila smirks, pushing her as she passes. Lauren turns to face her, chasing her up the stairs to her bedroom.

“CAMZ!” She yells.

Camila is faster than her by miles, and by the time she reaches her room and flips on the light, Camila is sitting crisscross on Lauren’s bed, hugging a stuffed frog to her chest. Lauren releases an overdramatic gasp.

“Lennon! Don’t hurt him.”

Camila bites her lip, slipping off the opposite side of the bed as Lauren sprints toward her. She pins Camila between her closet and the cubby where her computer sits. Camila shrieks, throwing Lennon over Lauren’s shoulder to the bed. She raises her hands.

“TRUCE!”

Lauren climbs onto her bed to hold Lennon. She pets his head and frowns at Camila as she sits down on her knees beside her.

“Poor Lennon.”

“So,” Camila begins, still biting at the corner of her bottom lip. "Boy talk?”

Besides One Direction, Camila never has much to talk about boys. Nonetheless, she loves to live vicariously through Lauren. Lauren has prospects, and good prospects.   
Lauren grins, setting Lennon down in front of her pillows.

“Luis texted me tonight,” Lauren says. Camila gasps.

“What did he say?!”

Lauren grabs her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, fiddling with it before she extends it out to Camila.

“Happy New Year’s,” Lauren darkens her voice to a grumble as she reads his latest text out loud.

“What does that mean? Do you think he’s only texting me because of the X-Factor, or something?”

Camila leans back on her feet and hands her phone back.

“I feel like with everything that happened when you got back, that’s unlikely.”

And for more reasons than that, Camila thinks it’s less than unlikely. Impossible, maybe. Lauren knows how to flirt, and she’s good at it. She shows Camila her texts to Luis and they’re perfect. Detached but interested, cute but sexy. Luis’s texts are boring. He doesn’t appreciate the craft that goes behind the texts, the texts they spend hours grueling over. Camila helps with the cute parts and Lucy, Lauren’s friend, helps her with the sexy. Her texts are legendary. Camila wants to meet the myth, this Lucy.

“I thought he would invite me over tonight. New Year’s Eve is the perfect excuse for a first kiss.”

She rolls her eyes. Camila thinks that if Lauren’s pursuers were a tenth as smart as her, she wouldn’t have a problem.

“What about you?” Lauren pushes Camila’s shoulder and the beads around her neck make a little jingling noise as she recoils.

“That’s mean,” She says with a frown.

“No, I’m serious,” Lauren says.

Boys don’t talk to Camila, she’s unbearably awkward. Her cheeks blush bright red when she looks at one, let alone talks to one. They’re like another species, and flirting another language. She’s bilingual and it’s still a mouthful.

“Camila, you’re beautiful. Get used to it already!"

Camila’s cheeks rush with warmth at this, and she looks down. The blushing is out of control. Lauren isn’t even a boy and she still has this reaction, this intolerable flutter in her chest that tickles her blood right to the surface.

“I’m so awkward,” She sighs, running her hands up and down her thighs.

“What’re you talking about, you’re adorable!” Lauren sets a hand on hers. “I’m serious.”

Lauren is so nice to her. And even if she’s lying, and Camila thinks she has to be, she has this tilt to her lips and a subtle rise in her dark brow that makes it look genuine.

“What doe–” Camila stops, biting down on her lip. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Lauren asks, subconsciously tilting her head to the side.

“No, it’s – it’s nothing.”

Camila looks to the wall by the head of her bed. Lauren has a 1975 poster over her bed, a greyscale photo of sheets and their name, the cover for their EP ‘Sex’ that she got for Christmas. She can’t believe Lauren’s parents gave it to her for Christmas. Her mother would never allow it in her own room. Lauren shoves Camila’s arm.

“Camz! Tell me,” She says.

“Fine, fine,” Camila sighs.

“I was going to ask what…” Camila’s eyes widen at the thought of asking it. She can’t bear the heat across her face.

“Camz…”

“What it feels like!” She spits out.

“Kissing,” Camila whispers, looking down at her hands.

New Year’s Eve is as exciting as it is stressful. She always imagines that this year will be her kiss, but Harry Styles hasn’t appeared at her door yet, and so she waits.

“You’re not serious,” Lauren says. “You’ve never been kissed?”

Camila takes a break from twiddling her thumbs and shrugs.

“No,” She says. Lauren’s green eyes are widened, and her lips parted in a wide gape.

“Never? Never... how did I not know this?" She mumbles to herself, stunned, though Camila can’t imagine why. She’s shaking her head now, her jaw still dropped. But soon enough, to Camila’s relief, she closes her mouth, pressing her lips together.

“It feels like . . .” She begins, looking at the blades of her ceiling fan to find her words. Her gaze falls to her phone, where it stays until a smirk stretches across her lips.

“Do you want to try it?”

Lauren presses her hands against the bed and scoots forward. Their knees are pressed against one another's, and Camila can’t help but giggle.

“Lauren, no!” She says through a grin, the flutter in her chest turning to butterflies in her stomach, then weightlessness in her head and she feels dizzy with the nerves.

“I don’t know, won’t it be weird?” She laughs as Lauren looks between her eyes.

Camila’s eyes fall to Lauren’s lips, and they stay there for a fraction of a second before the nerves force her gaze to her own hands.   
Lauren grabs her phone, opening it to the time: 11:59.

“It’s New Year’s, Camz, everyone kisses on New Year’s. You,” Lauren presses her finger to her nose, “deserve to be kissed on New Year’s.”

Camila’s entire face is ablaze in a warm tingling. There’s shouting outside now, a countdown.

“Ten, nine–” It continues, and Lauren leans in just slightly.   
The butterflies pull against Camila’s stomach and she shrinks back the tiniest bit. But Lauren’s glance is soft, inviting.

“Six, five–” Lauren looks down at Camila’s lips and she watches Lauren’s, falling towards her.

“Three, two–” Camila closes her eyes and leans into Lauren.

“One,” Lauren breathes on her mouth.

Camila presses her lips to Lauren’s, melting into the warmth of her mouth. It’s soft, Lauren’s kiss and her strawberry-scented lips, and her inhale is cool against Camila’s nose. She falls further into Lauren as she pulls away, only to return on the other side of her mouth. Camila’s hand is on Lauren’s neck, pulling her closer. There’s a gentle gasp on her lips as she does. It pulls her back from her daze, and there’s a stiffness from her lungs to her throat. She drops her hand from Lauren and pulls away, exhaling her held breath. She’s still catching her breath when she looks up at Lauren. Her brow is low over her inquisitive green eyes, like she’s deep in thought.

“Was that . . . bad?” Camila mutters. Lauren’s eyes jump to hers.

“No that was good. Very good, you’re a natural,” Lauren says, pressing her lips together.

Camila grins. A natural? And coming from Lauren Jauregui’s lips? Camila can’t believe it. The butterflies are silent in her stomach, peering up at her with proud wiggles to their antennas. Lauren pops her lips and grins at Camila.

“Happy New Year, Camz.”


	10. Chapter IX

The soft shudder of the elevator comes to a smooth stop as they reach Lauren's floor. There's a chime as the golden doors slide open. Lauren slips in between the half-open doors, already en route to her hotel room. The gentle tumble of Camila's suitcase trails further and further behind her as she rushes ahead. She wants to charge forward until she's walled away from Camila. She doesn't want to feel her following behind, or see her or hear her or think about her ever again. When she thinks about her, everything starts to veer off course. She had a mission plan and Camila is one great-big astroid veering into her path. It's half Dinah's fault, but Lauren can't afford to hate Dinah. Lauren may have created her own mission plan, but she is only a co-pilot. Dinah is what keeps her going. 

Lauren is rustling through her purse for her keycard when Dinah yells to her from two doors down. She hands Camila a keycard before she makes her way up the hall to Lauren's door. Camila is fiddling with the electronic lock, tapping the keycard on the top, the side, and holding it up in a number of positions before she realizes it needs to be inserted. Lauren feels something, like a memory of emotion, a memory of humor and laughter. _Cutesy, _she would've said. The thought makes her nauseous. As she said, _one great-big astroid_. Camila disappears into her room as Dinah comes up beside Lauren.

"Your plan isn't going to work," Dinah says, following Lauren into the room.

Lauren sets her keycard on the table in the living room. The curtains are open, spreading dreary light throughout the room. It's already giving her a headache. There are clouds hanging over Central Park, the bright gray kinds that don't hold any rain and have no purpose, besides ruining Lauren's buzz. She clicks on the lamp when she reaches the living room's coffee table, and falls into a beige armchair facing the door. Dinah stares at her, hands on her hips.

"Lee is never going to believe that you've come full circle in three days," Dinah continues. 

"He doesn't need to." Lauren is on her phone, now. 

Dinah slinks further into the room, peering out of the window at the park below. She lowers into a seat across from Lauren, crossing her arms, tapping her toes on the carpet, looking generally upset with having ever met such a stubborn ass as Lauren.

"He needs to see an effort. Effort, progress, recovery." Dinah grumbles in Lee's low voice. Lauren laughs.

"Yeah... right. I almost forgot about _that_ slogan. If it weren't for you, I'd only have Lee to remind me... every. single. session." Dinah isn't amused.

"You think he'll believe you've made an effort with that attitude? And if he did, what will you have to show for it? You're _high_ Lauren," Dinah says. She looks like Lauren's mother, now. The way she points her finger and angrily gestures like she's trying to push an invisible mass of shame towards Lauren. 

Lauren sighs. There's a vase of yellow carnations on the coffee table. It fills the room with a faint sweetness. Lauren looks at the flowers, who have so little trouble being cheerful, and tries to sit as they do - satisfied in their vase, their petals languidly resting from their stems. It takes Lauren everything she has just to sit here with Dinah, let alone relax in her chair. She's so angry in her own skin. It isn't Dinah. At the end of the day, it isn't even Camila. She feels angry at everyone and everything, and nothing at all. Even if she _were _a flower, she would surely be wilting... maybe she always has been. She can't remember a time when she wasn't, because that time has long passed and, as far as she was concerned, didn't belong to her anymore.

"Fuck, Lauren. When are you going to start taking this seriously? This is the end of the line. He needs to see an eff-" Lauren shushes Dinah as she raises her phone to her ear. 

"Fetch Camila for me, will you?" Lauren whispers on the second ring. Dinah raises her eyebrows.

"Please?" Lauren smirks. "Pretty please?" 

Dinah abides, slowly moving from her seat and glaring at Lauren as she walks towards the door. The phone rings three more times before Lee answers. They exchange their mandatory greetings and Lauren looks at the flowers again - _bright and cheerful_.

"I'm surprised to be hearing from you so soon, Lauren. How is Los Angeles treating you?" 

"The awards were a _blast-_" Lauren stops to clear her throat of sarcasm. "But I'm back in New York, now." There's a long pause, and Lee's breath comes slow through the speaker. 

"You're back from Los Angeles?" His voice is low, defeated.

"I don't blend well with Californians. Something about the surf mentality," Lauren says. She leans over the armrest of her seat, watching the doorway intently as Lee sighs. 

"How are you feeling?" 

"Fantastic," She says. He pauses again. 

"I was hoping to hear that you'd seen Camila. I thought that we'd agreed on how important it was to open that door to your trauma. I'm not expecting recovery, Lauren. I'm only asking for progress and all I'm seeing is regression ... If I were your friend, I wouldn't ask you to revisit such a painful period of your life. If I were only your therapist, it wouldn't be my place to insist you do. But it isn't my job to be your friend, and my responsibilities as your appointed psychologist overrule my desire to be a resigned therapist. It's my job to teach you how to cope with your anger, which I cannot do unless you are willing and sober. I cannot allow your drug use to spiral without reporting it to your management. They expect progress but I am only asking for _effort._" 

_Come on Dinah, _Lauren thinks, tapping her fingers nervously against the armrest as she watches the door. _Hurry up!_

"If you had spoken to Camila despite your apprehension, I would've seen that you were dedicated to your treatment plan. I would have done my best to convince your management that you were ready and able to continue your tour - _sober. _I'm at the end of the rope here, Lauren. I have no more to give. I can only give you a few days to adjust until I call management. After that, I'll speak to the la–" The door clicks open. Lauren jumps from her seat. 

"Listen, listen, Lee–" She interrupts. "I have someone here who'd like to say hello."  
Lauren pushes past Dinah and shoves the phone towards Camila. It bounces around in her hands until she gets a sturdy grip on it.

"Say hello," Lauren whispers. Camila's mouth is in some parted frown, a look of shock and confusion in her eyes as she raises the phone to her ear. 

"Hello?" 

Camila mouths his words 'Who is this?' Lauren gestures towards Camila, _introduce yourself._ Dinah is lost, but Camila has a way of understanding Lauren ... or at least she used to.

"Uhm. . . Camila, Camila Cabello?" Her eyes are on Dinah, who's peering at Lauren with a furrowed brow. There's a short pause before Camila speaks again. 

"Yeah," She says cheerfully, as if she's been put on the phone with a fan. She smiles gently, saying _thank you this _and _thank you that_. That damn Lee is nice to everyone but Lauren.  
She grabs the phone from Camila.

"It's me, Lee." 

"You've truly done it?" He asks, somewhere between surprise and acceptance. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"You wouldn't have believed me," She says. Lee sits on her words for a moment. His silence tells her that he agrees - he wouldn't have believed her. Lee is a pain in her ass but he isn't a fool. He knows a liar when he sees one. But Lauren has some tricks up her sleeves.

"I'm impressed Lauren, this is great progress." He says. 

"Yee-up! We're catching up now," She says. Camila is tilting her head. Dinah is already walking away towards the dining table to silently judge Lauren from the corner of the room.

"Tell you what - I have an hour before my next appointment. Bring Ms. Cabello by my office and we can discuss how we move forward from here." Lauren chokes, unsure of how to get out of this one. _Sorry, Lee, can't do it - broke my leg. Sorry, Lee, can't do it - I broke Camila's leg. Sorry, Lee - all of our legs are broken and we simply can't make it to your office_.

"I'm not sure if I can do that, we're – we've made plans today." Lauren winces. Lee has no doubt noticed the stumble in her words. 

"I'm afraid I have to insist, Lauren. I won't be available to see you until our appointment next Saturday afternoon. I wouldn't be comfortable extending your freedoms until I'm able to see your progress." The excitement in his tone, what little there was, has faded. Lee is strictly business, and Lauren worries she's lost his belief. 

"Alright, no problem. We'll be there in 10," She says, ending the call before he has a chance to pick up on her panicked tone. 

"_We'll_?" Camila mumbles. Lauren doesn't respond, slipping past her to grab the keycard in the entryway. Dinah follows her. 

"You need to at least practice," Dinah says. 

"I'll be fine." Lauren pushes past her, but Dinah grabs her arm. 

"Lauren." She growls. Lauren shrugs her arm off and walks to Camila, standing awkwardly in front of the door, lips parted as she watches their exchange. Lauren grabs Camila's hand. 

"I forgive you," She says to Camila with a theatrical gulp and a softness in her eyes. She looks back at Dinah before she can see Camila's reaction. 

"Practice," She seethes, pulling Camila out of the room with her. 

"If I won't believe it, neither will Lee!" Dinah yells. Lauren slams the door behind her and drags Camila towards the elevator. Camila is trying to pull her hand away, but Lauren's grip is iron-strong. 

"Forgive me?" Camila wonders. "I didn't do–" Lauren cuts her off with a harsh glare as they enter the elevator, and she stops. Camila pulls her hand away again, and this time Lauren allows it. 

"You're not going to tell me where we're going?" Camila asks. Lauren bites the inside of her lip to stop her scowl. 

"And you're not going to tell me who was on the phone?" 

The elevator makes little chimes as they pass the floors, happy noises as they descend to the depths of hell.


	11. Chapter X

The waiting area for Lee's office is bright and welcoming. The white couches say, 'we can help you.' The glass coffee table says, 'we can see right through you and your petty problems.' There aren't any windows, just black-framed photos of abstract landscape art. There's a fake bamboo tree in the corner of the room; the leaves have been washed and waxed. Something about the room and its connection to Lauren unnerves Camila. _Too squeaky clean, s_he thinks. Lauren is sitting at the opposite end of the couch, going as far as to lean over the armrest just to distance herself from Camila. There's a hallway past Lauren leading to the offices, but Camila can only see one of the door's labels: _Tami Kelly, Financial Counseling. _She wonders idly if there's any way Lauren could be struggling with finances, but only to keep her mind busy. Lauren is staying at the Ritz... Financial troubles are not likely. _But what if she's struggling with finances because she's staying at the Ritz? _ But she'd spoken to a man on the phone and he didn't sound like a Tami. _But maybe he's her assistant... Girl power. _The thought process is enough to keep her mind occupied, and that's all she could ask for sitting in this all-too-clean room with Lauren Jauregui. 

The financial counselor 'Tami' steps out of her room and calls for a 'Sara.' The girl sitting by the bamboo plant stands. Tami's eyes meet Lauren's as she looks up. Camila tries to ignore it, but Tami's gaze lingers for longer than it should. _Come on... _it shouldn't bother her.Camila remembers when she was the only one in a twenty-mile radius who liked girls. It was her secret, then. She might have come out, but it still feels like her secret. _Lauren _still feels like her secret. That secret is over - especially in New York, and especially with Lauren. The door at the end of the hallway opens. 

Lauren drops her phone and throws herself across the couch. She scooches close to Camila's side and... _hugs_ her. Camila's body stiffens, somewhere between a deer in the headlights and a raccoon playing dead.

"Relax," Lauren whispers. _Relax_. The advice works about as well as it would if there was a snake closing around her waist, snipping off the last of her air supply. _Relax_. 

"Go with it," She says.

So Camila squeezes her eyes shut and sets her chin on Lauren's shoulder. Her hair smells like some new coconut shampoo, but her shoulder still smells like Lauren. It's a blend of linen and some fruit, and something else that, no matter how long she dwells on it, Camila can't attribute to a certain smell. She finally relaxes, melting into Lauren's shoulder when-

"Lauren," A man's voice says. Lauren's hands trail down Camila's arms as she pulls away. She smiles at her. Against all her better judgment, Camila feels that it's genuine.

"Lee," Lauren says. They both stand to greet him. 

"Nice to see you."

"Hi. We met over the phone," Camila says, hand extended towards Lee. He takes it and gives a sturdy shake before he replies.

"Yes, indeed we did. Camila Cabello, _in the flesh._ Please, come in."

Lauren grabs Camila's hand again. Camila writhes in her grasp, but one strong squeeze from Lauren seems to say _go with it_. 

Before Lee opens the door and lets them pass, she catches sight of the label on his office door. _Lee Hickey, PhD. Psychologist._ Lauren is in therapy? Camila is only slightly less concerned than she is impressed. She didn't peg Lauren for a therapy kind of girl. She _really_ didn't peg her for a therapy kind of girl. Any girl can be a therapy kind of girl but Lauren just ... isn't.

Lee's office is more colorful than the waiting room, a collage of light greens, beige, and browns. Lauren finally drops Camila's hand, falling into the couch in the center of the room. She pats the seat next to her with the same 'genuine' grin. Camila isn't sure if she wants to scoff or smile. Sitting down next to Lauren, she's barely present. Her mind is running through a reel of memories, all of the moments that led her here. Nothing helps her understand why she's here. How _did_ she get here? She was here for Dinah, that's the reason. That's the reason that makes the most sense.

"So, girls, how are you?" Lee says, taking a seat in the armchair opposite their couch. He's eating salad from a plastic container, one of his legs crossed over the other.

"Good," They reply simultaneously. Camila feigns a slight grin as Lauren chuckles.

Camila hears a faint trickle of water, birds chirping and ... _monkeys?_ It's like there's a rainforest above them, exotic birds hiding somewhere amongst the trees. She's looking around the ceiling for hints of its origin when Lee points to the corner of the ceiling, nearest the window.

"The speakers," He says, "I can change it if you'd like."

"No. No, that's fine," Camila says.

It reminds her of Spain, the birds. Outside her apartment, there was a brilliant sage-green oak tree. It hung over the courtyard, twisting and turning and touching the edge of her balcony with its leaves like it was reaching out for her. At dawn, the birds sat on its branches, singing melodies back and forth that drifted through her cracked windows. Sometimes they woke her up, and she'd go out to sing with them. Emilia hated it, singing in the morning. Camila's heart drops. Emilia. She misses her, she misses Spain. She misses predictability and comfort.

"Are you okay?" Lauren asks, setting a hand on her shoulder. Camila looks between the hand and her, then back again. Lauren's eyes are so familiar, the shape of them - the color of them that changes as often as her mood. _She's lying, _and though the shape of her eyes may not betray it, somewhere across her face it's there, the truth in her features. It's seeping out of her, and Camila can smell it on her skin. _If she could only lean in closer_.

"Mmhm," She mumbles, looking to Lee with a bitter grin. He swallows a bite of his salad.

"So, Camila, tell me about your and Lauren's reconciliation." Lauren presses her hand against Camila's thigh before she can speak.

"We ran into each other backstage. It was such a surprise. I asked her if we could talk and we did," She says.

_That's one way to put it, _Camila thinks. Lauren's grin falters when she looks at Camila.

"It wasn't easy," Lauren says slowly. And her face changes, softens. Camila bites her gums and looks down. Her lies are _sour_ and infuriating, but they aren't as heart racing as the truth.

"But we pushed past it, and here we are," She finishes.

Lee is rolling his pen between his thumb and his forefinger. He looks between the two, then smirks. 

"I'm glad to hear it," He says.

Lauren's hand runs slowly up Camila's leg, then into her own lap. Real or fake, she can't tell which Lauren this is coming from. It's so sudden. Camila is reacting to all of it in slow motion.

"And you, Camila?" Lee asks.

Camila parts her lips, mumbling vowels as she tries to find her words.

"Uhm... I feel like... Well, Lauren said it best. It wasn't easy." She laughs, looking over to Lauren, who's glaring at her. 

"A lot of memories," Camila says.

Lauren's eyes soften as Camila's lips threaten a frown. She looks away.

"Hmm," Lee sighs.

"I'm glad to hear it," He repeats in the same cryptic tone.

Camila feels like she's being interrogated and she isn't so sure she isn't. It's clear that Lauren is pretending to be her friend. _More than my friend?_ Why would her psychologist want them to be ... whatever? What did Lauren tell him about her? _I forgive you, _she had said. But for what?

"This is progress," Lee says.

"The first step," Lauren replies.

"To be in the same room must be difficult, yes." Lee turns his gaze to Camila. She can see in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow and the crinkle of his nose - he's knows she has more to say. 

"I'm surprised with your strength, Camila. To hold your tongue while Lauren feigns recovery? To go along with it? _Impossibly _difficult_." _Lauren jumps from the couch, a finger pointed at Lee.

"That's a lie. I put in the effort, didn't I?"

Camila's eyes are on Lauren's offensive stance, in awe of it. She's never seen Lauren so regressed, acting on some primal urge to advance on Lee. The rainforest above seems to have quieted - the birds have scattered. Lauren's raspy breath sounds like a growl, a leopard advancing through the brush. Lauren's free hand is balled so tightly into a fist that her knuckles are practically popping out of her skin.

"You put in the effort, I will give you that. But the underlying issue has not progressed at all, you have not faced your ad–" Lauren snaps her fingers and makes a shushing noise.

Camila's head is reeling and she can't seem to piece together what's happening. What is Lauren trying to hide from her?

"Do you want me to lose my passion, Lee? Do you want to break me? That's what this is doing!"

"That is what _you_ are doing." His voice is calm, melodic even. The same grace couldn't be replicated in one of Lauren's aggravated breaths, let alone her words.

"You are _still_ lying, you've just spent our entire session lying. To me, to Camila, to yourself – it must end, and there's only one wa–"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" She yells, almost a whine now. The waver in her voice sends a shiver down Camila's spine. 

Lauren is scared. Right there in front of her, she's hurting. Camila can't help but see it in her face, hear it in her whimpering breaths ... _the real Lauren_, Camila thinks, raw, vulnerable, and _real_. And she despised her, didn't she? But as Lauren let out another soft cry, Camila knew she never could.

Camila stands from the couch. Her hand grazes Lauren's forearm, but Lauren doesn't seem to notice it. She's trembling beneath her touch and shaking from her sobs.

"I made her," Camila shouts. "I made her lie. I didn't give her time. I told her I was leaving tomorrow. She had to lie."

Lauren looks back at her, her eyes stinging bright red. She seems to notice her touch, now, but she doesn't move. Her arm relaxes beneath Camila's hand. Lee looks between the two.

"Be that as it may, Camila, Lauren and I have rules and she has broken them. Negative actions aren't to be rewarded by amnesty and, unfortunately, without any proof of her commitment to recovery," He pauses, releasing a long sigh. "It's over, Lauren."

"I'll stay," Camila interrupts. "I'll stay until her next appointment. If she hasn't improved by then..." _I don't know what will happen, _"But give her one week, one last week."

Lauren raises her hand to her shoulder, entwining her fingers with Camila's and hanging their hands between them.

"Please," Lauren pleads. "One more chance."

Their hands hover there, swinging back and forth as Lauren takes heavy, uneven breaths. In the silence filled only by Lee shuffling in his chair, Camila's mind begins to catch up with her actions. _What are you doing Camila?_ It asks, shuffling through snapshots of her actions like evidence: Lee's squinted eyes, Madrid, the oak tree and Emilia, her home, her life. But her fingers are holding onto Lauren's for dear life, and they are content. _What are you doing?_


	12. Chapter XI

_May 5th, 2013_

_Do I stare at her? Do I really stare at her? A look is different than a stare, but when I'm looking at her, they see staring. There are videos about us, now. The fans call us 'Camren'. I liked it at first, in the X-Factor, but they make us out to be something we're not. We're friends, and that's all._

_I had to post something on my Tumblr yesterday just to stop the rumors. I'm not gay, I'm not bisexual, there's no gray area. I'm not and that's the end of it. And what about boundaries? Camz and I are friends and they're picking apart our relationship, finding scraps of evidence to support this conclusion that's just wrong. And it's hurting us, it's making it weird._

_Sometimes I think she's starting to believe it when she looks at me. I'll glance up at her and she'll be staring with this strange look on her face, like she pities me for it. I know she knows I'm not gay, and I know she's not gay, we both know it, but the rumors create this distance. We can't talk about it. And I don't want there to be something I can't talk about with Camz, something we can't share. Dinah looks at us differently too. We'll laugh together and she'll grin at us, as if she's sharing some intimate moment._

_I'm sorry for the rant, it's just been on my mind. And we kissed on New Year's Eve, God, I wish I never did that. It's not that I didn't enjoy it, I did and that's what's confusing me. NOT in a weird way, in the way that I can see we're giving them things to grasp onto. We're so close, we're soulmates, and I think they want it to be romantic because that's the natural connotation to our relationship. But until they experience it, until they know what it's like to have a friend that completes you, they'll never understand. Maybe they'll let it go. In ten years, Camz and I can look back on all the rumors and laugh. We won't let it get to us. There's nothing that can get between our friendship._

_Bye Diary, Lauren <3_


	13. Chapter XII

If Camila looks at herself long enough in the mirror under the pale-yellow light of the bathroom fixtures, she can see who she used to be. Everything has changed but her features hold hints of the past. They remember everything she's gone through and they can feel it. _She_ can feel it. It's the parts of her she can't see - her head, her heart, and her gut - who are ignorant. And they are driving her decisions, they with the obliviousness to the truths of her past. She feels the contradiction in her bones, her logic against her decisions, her heart against her past. It's like there's a little string tied to her, pulling her towards Lauren despite everything. And she can feel gravity weighing down on her, resistance in the air and in herself but it keeps tugging, _tugging. _Tugging until she stumbles into a situation like this.

The distant ring of her phone echoes off the granite tiling of the bathroom floor. Camila cusses, tip-toeing out of the bathroom to fetch her phone before Dinah wakes up. She reaches for her bright phone in the darkness and creeps across the carpet to the living room before she looks at its screen. _Emilia._ She sighs. Delivering bad news, especially to her girlfriend, has a way of leaching the breath from her lungs and the excitement from her tired heart.

"Emilia, cómo estás?" Camila whispers.

She lowers into the couch, pulling her cardigan over itself and tucking herself in. The room is awash in the cool tones of dawn's light. She feels tranquil in the mornings because nothing had gone wrong. It was a clean slate. It was a fresh sunrise over a new city. But the tranquility washes out of her as Emilia asks when she'll be seeing her next.

"Karla Camila, ¿cuándo puedo verte? Te extraño, dulzura." Emilia's voice is airy and energetic like she just woke up. It must be noon in Spain. It doesn't take long for her tone to turn frustrated as Camila whispers her plan.

One week and she'll be back in Madrid, she has to be. She has _so_ much to do already. Ashlee is bringing her guitar to the hotel today so she won't fall behind, but she's going to miss at least three dance practices and the whole week of vocal warm-ups with her usual trainer. Camila doesn't want to even consider how much work she has left finalizing her album. Thank god for Ashlee, she needs a friend in all this chaos and her guitarist is always there for her. And sleeping with Dinah is so strange. _I forgive you. _Lauren had said it sarcastically. Whatever Camila did, Dinah hasn't forgiven her either.

Camila sighs as she finishes. She asks Emilia to forgive her.

"Perdóname. Tengo que hacer esto, pero volveré pronto. Te prometo que te recompensaré." Camila replies to a frantic Emilia. She doesn't seem comforted. 

"Te echo tanto de menos cuando te vas de viaje." Emilia sighs. She doesn't like Camila being away, traveling.

Camila can convince herself that she doesn't like traveling either but it's a lie. She wants to be everywhere all at once. Emilia is a homebody, and since her home happens to be Spain, Camila is fine with it. She loves Spain dearly. If Emilia knew that Lauren lay asleep in the room across from her, she would be livid. Camila leaves that detail out of her explanation and tells her it's Dinah who needs her help, instead. Emilia isn't happy about that either, but she understands. It isn't so much a lie as a modification of the truth, because Dinah does need her help. Emilia releases another sigh. Camila feels it like her breath is brushing against her ear. She grins.

"Yo sé. Gracias por entender." Camila thanks her for understanding.

"Te amo," Emilia whispers.

"Te extraño, Emilia. Hasta pronto." Camila hangs up the phone.

She sees Dinah in the doorway to the bedroom as she looks up. She's rubbing her tired eye as she leans against the doorframe.

"Did I wake you up?"

Dinah looks up at her with a wary scowl. It's dead silent in their room, besides the faint hum of the city beneath them. Dinah flips the light on, dragging her feet to the coffee maker as Camila's eyes adjust to the room.

"Did you sleep well?" Camila asks half-heartedly. She doesn't expect a response, but something about the normalcy of it keeps her determined to ask questions, no matter their answer.

Dinah sits at the end of the couch opposite Camila with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, staring blankly ahead.

"I think Lee has made a lot of great progress with Lauren, but he doesn't know her like we do," She says after a lengthy sip. Her long fingernails click against the ceramic of her mug as she thinks.

"I think it's a good idea in theory: one week to get Lauren to dedicate herself to recovery. But Lee doesn't know you two. He knows that you'll make _it_ better, but he doesn't know that you'll make her worse before she gets better."

Camila feels like she's decoding a cipher. _It._ The word stays hovering in front of her like a golden key, shaded black to blend into the darkness of it all. _It_ is the answer. If only she knew what _it_ is.

"This is horrible for me, you know. I'm here to help her and that's hard. But then there's everyone expectingme to help her, and _that's_ harder. And _then_ there's everyone keeping the information I need to help her away from me, and _that's_ impossible," Camila sighs. "If she ... If Lauren is really struggling, shouldn't I know why?"

Dinah's nails are still drumming against her coffee. She moves her fuzzy socks onto the center of the couch to face Camila.

"She needs someone to trust and I've been that person for a long time. If I tell you, she'll have no one," Dinah says. She's staring at her knees, almost talking to herself.

"What about Ally and Normani?" Camila asks. Dinah just shakes her head.

"Normani tried, Ally _really_ tried."

"Her family?"

"They don't know. They know that she's been distant, but she hides it well," Dinah says. _It, _Camila wonders. What is _it?_

"You're not the only one she's unkind to it's – it's," Dinah begins, her voice breaking as she pauses to compose herself. She takes a steady sip from her cup and when it lowers from her face, her eyes are even redder. Camila considers reaching out for her, but it seems too much.

"It's hard. I know she cares about things but she knows how hard this is for me and she keeps doing _it._ And I'm working all the time just to make sure she's okay but I don't know what to do, she's spinning out of control," Dinah says, wiping a tear from her eye as she rambles on. Camila sets a hand on her knee, now. Whatever _it_ is, it's destroying Lauren and she's taking Dinah down with her.

Camila remembers the last time she saw Dinah cry. It was after they'd finalized the next year's contract for Fifth Harmony, a contract that no longer included her name. Dinah was angry for weeks. For _weeks,_ she wouldn't look at her and then they'd climb on stage like nothing was wrong. But she came to her eventually, and she was so broken over it. Camila wanted to take it all back. But she couldn't and she wouldn't. She had to leave. She'd never been so sure of something in her life. She signed the contract and as she dropped the pen, she inhaled. The office was stuffy, full of girls and lawyers and management, but when her lungs filled with that air, she could finally breathe. And they talked for hours and hours. Dinah didn't know why Camila needed to leave, but she was determined to fix it. But it wasn't Dinah's problem to fix. Camila can't imagine that Lauren's 'situation' is Dinah's to fix, either. But here she sits again, broken and hurt over someone else's mistakes.

"You are my last resort, Camila. If you can't help her, no one can." She sniffs, wiping a line of snot from her nose.

"Stay here," Camila says, jumping from the couch. She runs to the bathroom, returning soon after with a box of tissues. She trades it for Dinah's coffee, then sets her mug down on the table.

"I promise, I'll try," She begins slowly, "But you have to give me something. You don't have to tell me what _it_ is, just tell me what to do. Tell me what I need to do to help Lauren and I will."


End file.
